Beautiful Letdown
by Almyra
Summary: Friends left behind, responsibility abandoned, dreams unfulfilled and promises broken. How does one cope with going from an adult to a child, from one world to another, in an instant?
1. Aftershock

**AN:** Was bitten hard by a rabid, red-eyed plot bunny on these vignettes – hope it works. I will add scenes/chapters as inspiration strikes. I have gone with the books in having them be alone in the empty room after coming out of the wardrobe.

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_"Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed – in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet."_  
I Corinthians 15:51-52a, NIV

_"… they were no longer Kings and Queens in their hunting array but just Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy in their old clothes. It was the same day and the same hour of the day on which they had all gone into the wardrobe to hide."_  
The Hunting of the White Stag, _The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe_ by C.S. Lewis

_"I will carry a cross and a song where I don't belong, I don't belong…"_  
"Beautiful Letdown", Switchfoot

**Aftershock**

They did not say much to one another after tumbling out of Narnia. They were really much too stunned even to move and stayed sprawled where they had fallen for a very long time. Shaking fingers lightly touched faces, hair, clothing – wide eyes took in the empty room, the gaping wardrobe, each other – their appearance, their normality, their _youth_. The prospect of being caught by the Macready and her tour group, who stood talking in the passage outside, did not frighten them at all. When she finally left, they hardly noticed.

It was Peter who stirred first, who climbed to his feet awkwardly, overcompensating for weight and height, swaying unsteadily as he stood. "When did we forget?" he asked, and his voice broke, rasping and scratchy, as though it hadn't been used of late. No one responded, and he went to the window, shuffling slowly and uncertainly as one blind.

Susan suddenly exploded into movement so quickly that she stumbled, flung herself over the threshold of the wardrobe, straight through the swaying coats, and thumped against the back. The hollow wooden 'boom' was a death knell to their hearts, and Lucy began to weep, bent over her small knees. Edmund scooted over across the dusty, creaking floor and hugged her gently against him. Shadows were falling when they finally mustered up the courage to leave silence behind.


	2. First Thanksgiving

_The first meal back…_

**First Thanksgiving**

"Peter, would you?" Lucy looked up at him imploringly, and Peter swallowed, his eyes misting. He blinked the moisture away and looked up to the Professor, who was sitting quietly at the other end of the dining room table, his hands folded over his plate.

"I don't see where it would hurt," the old man said calmly. "After all, thanks are given for meals in this world, the same as in Narnia."

Peter smiled, tentative, and his gaze flicked over his other siblings flanking him at the table. Edmund had his dark brown eyes fastened to the table's centerpiece and wouldn't look at him – _fat lot of help you are, Ed, thanks ever so_ – while Susan, with an unreadable expression on her face, gave him the slightest of nods.

Still he hesitated. "Please, my lord," whispered his youngest sister, a tear making its lone way down her child's face. He was nearly undone.

"For thy blessings and the bounty of this table, Aslan, we give thee thanks," he said thickly, as he lifted his glass, raised it to eye level, and then took a sip. The brackish water crested on his tongue and then cascaded down his throat, and for a moment, he almost tasted the rich spices of Narnian wine. He fought the urge to choke, managed to hang on, and swallowed.

"We give thee thanks," his brother and sisters echoed softly, and then at his gesture, they busied themselves with their meal.


	3. Hunting Array

**AN:** I've gone back and forth and back and forth on the probability that certain physical changes from Narnia would hold true to their return. Still don't know exactly where I stand in the grand scheme of things, but I've chosen this direction for now.

**Hunting Array**

The bathroom door closed with slightly more force than necessary. Peter stood for a moment with his pajamas pressed against his chest, and then he moved forward and placed them on the edge of the sink. His hands trembled as he held them out before him, and then his gaze travelled to his reflection in the mirror, feeling again a slight jolt of amazement to see boyhood looking back at him.

With a sudden rush, he threw off his suspenders and fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, slipping them from their holes, catching one on a stray thread and popping it loose. Frantically, he yanked at his sleeves, pulling, almost panting with haste and aggravation as he tangled in the cloth, succumbing to a terrifying sense of relief when it tore and came away from his body, the scratching, itching, crawling fabric falling away to the floor.

The undershirt was next, and Peter's breath came in short, harsh gasps as he jerked and tugged the garment off, peeling it over his shoulders – the cold air hitting his skin and raising goose pimples, the fine hairs standing on end. He threw the undershirt down and stood gulping for air with his head thrown back, unexplained tears trickling down his cheeks.

After a moment he turned again to the mirror and looked down at his pale, smooth skin. Ah, there, and there, and there. His fingers moved to examine a long, red scar curving around his ribcage – a short set of tripartite slashes on his other side – on his neck the same. The golden lion tattoo on his right bicep. He began to breathe easier, and he raised blue eyes to meet his own.

"By Aslan's prescription and election I am a Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, the Lord of Cair Paravel, the Emperor of the Lone Islands, and High King over all kings in Narnia," he said fiercely to the boy in the mirror, speaking as the man he had been and perhaps would yet become. "I am _Peter_, and I _will_ not forget."


	4. Scars

**Scars**

Narnia was already fading – the rich colors, the myriad smells, the crisp sounds, the faces, the names – and his memories moved in a dim fog, evading his grasp, sliding out of reach as he tried to draw them close.

Edmund sighed and tossed in his bed yet again, the wooden slats creaking. It had begun to rain, and fat drops pounded rhythmically against the leaded window pane. He was grateful they were at the Professor's. The house was large enough, old enough, and grand enough that he could almost, if he closed his eyes, fancy he was in his bed at the Cair.

But alas, there was no undercurrent of crashing surf beneath the rain, the fireplace here had been cold and dead for scores of years, his pajamas and the sheets were scratchy, and he had not had his customary draught of brandy before bed. He tossed once more, furious and frustrated. Even his pipe and its spicy, soothing tobacco were lost to him, and such a thing was hardly to be borne.

He certainly did not look forward to growing up again – the breaking, squeaking voice, the terrible aches in his legs and arms, the gangly awkward stages, the insatiable hunger, the fevers, the sweats. How would he do it and maintain any semblance of innocence? How would he listen to his father's 'Talk' with a straight face? There would be no denying the truth in his eyes.

Distracted with his thoughts, he stared at the ceiling for an eternity. When he eventually did sleep, it was not deep, nor was it refreshing. Instead, he drifted on a frozen tide, rushed along in a vicious wind, running, running, running – driven by the flick of a whip, the point of a knife, and long-dead unutterably cold, unbelievably cruel laughter.


	5. Dream of a Dream

**Dream of a Dream**

Susan woke abruptly in the middle of the night and sat straight up in bed, shaking off the last vestiges of a horribly bad dream and facing an unfamiliar room. She squinted, foggy and confused. Was that blob of ghostly luminescence the window? Why was it over there? What were those strange shapes? Why was it so cold? She moved restlessly, seeing but uncomprehending, a thick, clinging haze coating her mind and her understanding, forcibly keeping her from reality, from truth.

Could she be dreaming still? After all, she had suffered through remarkably life-like visions before. Susan bent over her knees and clutched at her head, her fingers threading through her thick, black hair. Was she traveling? Had she forgotten? Where _was_ she? _Who_ was she? Calm, calm. Be still. In just a moment, the answer would come to her. She _must_ be traveling. Perhaps a diplomatic visit somewhere? Yes, that was it. It must be. A soft whimper escaped her lips. She was going mad.

Suddenly she felt a shifting in the bed as someone beside her rolled over with a gentle snore. Panic seized her, and she threw back the lumpy covers and swung her legs out from under them. The instant her feet hit the rag rug, Susan forgot all about her mysterious bedmate. Something was wrong with her body, and she ran her hand tentatively down her nightgown. How…how could this be? She was no longer full grown – chest and stomach flat, hips narrow, hands, feet, legs, all diminished. Her hair was shoulder length, instead of being bound back in a long, long braid for nighttime.

With a heartbroken cry, she dropped to her knees, falling against the bed. England! She was back in England: no longer a woman, no longer a queen, no longer in Narnia. Her surroundings came into sharper focus, and she recognized the room at last. Gasping, she clutched the trailing sheets and then felt small hands patting at her head and face, touching her gently. The bed creaked as her younger sister climbed out and settled on the floor, placing comforting arms around the older girl's waist, rocking slightly. "Ssssssh, Susan, ssssssh. Hey, there. Hey... Sssssssh, beloved. Sssssssssh."

And Susan wept.


	6. Breathe

**AN:** This one ran a little longer than I would like for this series, but it just had to get out there...

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**Breathe**

Edmund came out of his nightmares to a strange congested sound. He stared into blackness, completely disoriented. What was that? Where was he? Had he made that noise? There was a little wet patch of saliva on his pillow, but that was entirely normal - he didn't think he had choked. He listened, tensing beneath the covers. It came again, the awful rattling of someone struggling mightily for breath, and then he knew.

He flew out of bed, tangling briefly with the heavy blanket, and tried to locate his brother. There came a moment or two of complete bewilderment as he stumbled in several different directions, and he bashed his shins against the dresser and stubbed his bare toes against the bedstead before he ran up against the softness of bedclothes.

"Lion's mane!" he exploded, hopping on one foot and steadying himself against the mattress. "Damn and blast!"

"Language…please…Ed," a wan voice managed wearily, and the younger boy reached out, his fingers expecting to feel the bulk of muscle and a tall frame – instead they encountered a body far too small and thin to be High King Peter the Magnificent. A heartbeat of unbelief and then acquiescence. Another hoarse, dragging inhalation.

"Here, Peter," Edmund said, fumbling for the bedside lamp. A click, and light flared. Both boys flinched and blinked rapidly, and then Edmund took charge, helping Peter sit up, arranging the pillow behind his back, running to the bathroom and bringing back a warm, damp washcloth. He climbed up to sit next to his older brother and slipped the cloth beneath Peter's pajama top and held it to his chest. "Wish we had your medicine box," he said, "Even that nasty rub."

"Sorry…" Peter wheezed, his face pale and frightened, "Didn't…know this…would…come back…with me."

"Yes, my lord, this is entirely your fault," Edmund teased, rubbing the back of his brother's neck with his free hand, "I'm sure you quite consciously chose to keep these fits as your reminders of Narnia. And of course they have nothing whatsoever to do with a giant or a dark sorceress."

The older boy shuddered. "Don't…" he said, "Please…"

Silence fell. They could hear the clock ticking, a steady metronome counting off minutes, and still Peter fought, laboring against the old injury strangling his lungs. Once he bent forward, and something hot and wet dripped pitter-pattering onto Edmund's arm. "Hurts…"

"I know," the younger boy said quietly, "I know, Peter. Sssh, now, you know it passes more swiftly if you stay calm."

Peter nodded and closed his eyes. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he began to breathe easier, and he rested his head against Edmund's shoulder, gradually slipping into an exhausted sleep. But Edmund remained awake, stroking his older brother's tousled blond hair, his dark eyes glinting in the lamplight and aching grief dully pinching his heart.


	7. Remembering You

**Remembering You**

Lucy was nearly in tears by the time she reached the old carriage house behind the professor's mansion. Pulling with all her strength, she opened the splintered, creaking wooden door and stepped into the shadows, the musty smell of old hay and leather tickling her nose. The dim silhouettes of several antique coaches and a carriage slowly materialized as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. She ran to the carriage and climbed up into the back seat, throwing herself on the cracked cushions.

"I miss my friends, Aslan," she sobbed aloud, her hands clasping her head, "I miss Mellifleur and Palomnus and Orieus and Phillip and Mr. and Mrs. Beaver and Mr. Tumnus and…and _everyone_! Why did you send us away? Who will take care of Narnia? Oh, _Mr. Tumnus_!"

After a time, Lucy's heartbreak was finally spent, and she knelt sniffling on the floor of the carriage. It was then she discovered that she was not alone, for one of the several cats Mrs. Macready kept as mousers had jumped up with her and sat looking up at her with wise hazel eyes.

"Oh, I wish you could talk, puss-puss," she said as she wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and blew her nose. She climbed onto the seat and patted her lap. Surprisingly, the little orange cat actually complied with her wishes and curled up against her. "What do you suppose they're all doing now?" she wondered, petting its soft fur and receiving a contented purr in response. "Do you think Aslan has come to take care of them?"

The young girl suddenly paused, thunderstruck at her words. "Of course!" she whispered, and the cat gazed at her with a very pleased expression before turning to bathe its side. "Aslan must have come! I'm sure he must have. How silly of me not to think of that in the first place! He'll take care of things, I know it."

Lucy sat in satisfied silence with this, feeling the empty hole that was Narnia shrivel somewhat and the numbing despair lessen. She knew she would always miss those left behind, but the thought that Aslan was with them made her sorrow not quite as binding or as strong. It wasn't long then before both she and the little cat were fast asleep, curled together and dreaming.


	8. Into the Lists

**Into the Lists**

"Shaving"

A roll of dark eyes. "Oh, come off it, Peter, you didn't shave yourself. Palomnus did it for you, just like Aimnus did for me. And I will say those hot towels did feel good on a cold morning."

A huff. "Shows what you know. For all his myriad talents, my good valet was not a steady hand with the razor. And so I shaved myself – without the towels, thank you. Every morning. And I _won't_ miss it."

"Not for the next three or four years, anyway. Give or take." A snigger.

A long-suffering sigh. "Back to the subject – come on now. What will you _not_ miss about Narnia?"

A pause. "Susan's suitors."

Immediate response. "Lucy's suitors."

"You do realize the girls are going to grow up again, and we'll have the same problem."

A sly grin. "Same solution."

Another snigger. "Beating someone black and blue with the flat of your blade isn't really allowed here, you know, Peter."

"Sadly true. I'm sure we can resort to your trick of lacing their drinks with loads of mineral oil, though. Your turn."

Silence for a moment. "Talking Dogs. Singing Mice."

A frown. "That's not very nice, Ed. They were your subjects."

A shrug. "It's true, though. And I'm working with a rather short list, you know. Things I _don't_ miss?"

Bittersweet expressions creep across two faces. "I know."

Nothing is said for several minutes. "Come on, Peter, it's your turn."

Blue eyes turn thoughtful. "Diplomats."

"Mmmmm." Silence. "Very well, I grant you – the annoying, smarmy ones, anyway. But I rather enjoyed that part of being king." A fond smile. "All that verbal sword-play, tactics, attack and counter attack, watching them squirm when you turned a particularly brilliant phrase, debating, minds meeting minds – ah, delightful."

A soft snort. "You can have it. Give me an army at my back and a sword in my fist over that stuffy back-and-forth drivel any day."

"I never said I _disliked_ being in the field." A canny look. "Someone had to look out for you, you know."

"Hmmph."

"And there was something about being in armor. That I'll miss, certainly."

"Are you joking? First suffocating and then sweating to death? Stinking to high heaven after you take it off? Clanking through the Cair, making so much noise everyone keeps telling you to stop waking the dead?"

Laughter, echoes of a deeper voice beneath the boyish one. "You're a poor liar, Peter Pevensie. You loved it."

An answering smile: sorrowful, wise, and ancient. "Yes. I did."


	9. Post Royale

**AN:** (mustering up my best Charlie Brown voice) "Chreeeeestmas time is here…", which means writing time is down to about nil and has been, obviously, for the last several weeks. What with some vacation time coming up soon, hopefully that will change. In the meantime, here's a little treat for y'all to thank you most kindly for your patience! (smile)  
And many thanks to PippinBaggins for putting the idea in my head (chap. 52 of _I Was King of Narnia_)!

**Post Royale  
**

"_Peter_! I can't believe you _said _that!"

Lucy's shocked whisper made Peter start and drew his attention from the chessboard where he was fiercely concentrating on keeping his queen safe from Edmund's encircling advance. He met her astonished gaze and frowned, puzzled. Susan looked up from her book and regarded him with a small, amused smile pulling at her lips, and Edmund sat across the table in full smirk mode, his deep brown eyes sparking with delight.

"What?" Peter asked, entirely confused and feeling pricks of irritation at their silent mirth. He knew words had come from his lips, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember their exact composition. "What did I say? What?"

Lucy closed her still open mouth, took a deep breath, and opened it again to speak when Edmund reached over and picked up a battered envelope that Peter just now noticed lay helter-skelter across the tabletop, almost as if it had been thrown. His brother held it up, waved it a bit in the air, and delicately lifted an eyebrow, that wicked little smile never leaving his face.

"The Macready just stepped in. Said we'd received a letter. And d'you know what happened?" He paused to snicker a bit, and Lucy seized her opening.

"You didn't even look," she said, "Just went on thinking. And then," she hopped up from her nest next to Susan on the settee, "you did this..."

Coming over to stand beside Peter's chair, she wrinkled up her nose and stared down at the chess pieces, clearly trying to imitate her eldest brother in the throes of total engrossment. Peter felt a sudden stab of dread as his youngest sister intoned, "Very well, Palomnus, just leave it on the table like a good faun," while waving her hand in what barely passed for a distracted dismissal.

"Oh, sweet Lion," Peter groaned, sitting back in his chair and covering his now flaming face with his hands. "I didn't."

"You did," Edmund said, glee evident in every line of his body. "And boy, was the Macready stunned. I don't think she knew quite exactly what to say - she stood there for a bit with her mouth working and her cheeks red and then tossed the letter down on the table and took her leave, still huffing. I'd be prepared to go without supper tonight if I were you."

The oldest Pevensie peeped through his fingers at his brother and uttered a deep, heart-felt sigh before letting his hands fall back in his lap. "Well, it's nothing more than We deserve for forgetting Our place," he said with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

"I'll sneak you something," Lucy promised, patting Peter's arm sympathetically.

He smiled at her and kissed her small hand. "A hero, Lu, as always," he said.

"Goodness, Ed," Susan said suddenly from the settee, "Whatever is the matter?"

Edmund had turned the letter over and was now staring pale-faced at the return address written on the front. "Well, now," he managed, and his voice was hoarse. "That's handwriting I haven't seen in years."

He glanced back up, and though his expression was composed, his lips trembled. "It's from our parents."


End file.
